


SpyCastle. Wait, No! SpyRodgers?

by drdit92



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drdit92/pseuds/drdit92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Crack!fic based on a twitter conversation: "I really need to see Martha disarm Beckett and everyone to just (be in total shock)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	SpyCastle. Wait, No! SpyRodgers?

He never saw it coming.

None of them did.

Well, almost none of them.

* * *

It started innocently enough.

Or so it seemed.

He'd just come back from a book tour, several weeks long.

Kate had stayed at her place most of the time while he was gone. They talked, when they could, but they were both pretty busy.

When he got back, something was off with her. Nothing he could quite put a finger on, but she was acting a bit strangely.

She said she wasn't feeling well.

He believed her.

But she wasn't the only one acting…differently.

His mother, of all people, suddenly was finding excuses to stay home, hang out with them.

If he hadn't been so worried about Kate, he might have noticed.

As it was? He barely paid attention to Martha.

Oh, she wasn't there constantly. She still came and went.

Looking back on it later, however, he saw she was gone more in the day, home with them at night.

Odd.

Thank God.

* * *

He pretty much missed the first attempt on his life.

He'd gone to the answer the door, assuming the pizza guy was really fast.

Before he'd crossed the living room, a flash of turquoise and fuchsia whipped past him.

It was the neon green accent that drove him backwards, eyes hurting.

"I'll get it, Richard," she trilled.

He was still rubbing his eyes, trying to see around the spots blurring his vision. A muffled bang and some tussling came from the door.

"Mother, are you all right?"

"Yes, darling. I just accidentally hit the wall with the pizza boxes and dropped one, is all. Never mind, now."

He just shook his head. His mother could be so clumsy at times.

* * *

The second attempt came on a morning a few days later. He'd been up writing most of the night, finally falling into a deep sleep around 5a.m.

When he stumbled into the kitchen, the only thing on his mind was coffee.

Now.

Reaching the machine, he nearly drooled at the thought of the heavenly taste that would soon grace his lips.

He poured the liquid velvet into his 'World's Best Dad' mug.

His favorite.

It was the last of the batch, but it was just enough to fill his cup.

Ummm, coffee.

Soooooo good.

He raised his java towards his waiting lips, heart beating faster in anticipation.

He never saw the orange, green and black atrocity sashaying towards him.

The violent collision caused the mug to drop and shatter.

All the beautiful nectar now splashed over the cabinets and floor surrounding him.

He felt like crying.

"Oooh, Richard dear. I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Here, let me just clean this up for you."

He stalked back to his room to change into dry clothing, muttering about the benefits of old people homes or extended ' _Broadway Across America_ ' tours.

Kate asked him that night about his favorite coffee mug being in the trash.

He'd told he'd dropped it.

He didn't notice the look of exasperation on her face.

His mother did.

* * *

The third time, he was cooking a special dinner for what he'd thought would be just the two of them.

They hadn't been intimate since he'd been back from the tour: she'd not felt well, and he didn't want to seem like a jerk about it.

Tonight, he had high hopes.

Turns out she did too.

Only she was hoping for a slightly different outcome than he was.

* * *

Dinner for two had become for three, much to his chagrin.

Martha was drinking her way through more of his wine collection, and had invited herself to join them.

No hints that she'd be less than welcome had made an impact.

Kate had seemed very disappointed as well.

His hopes for the evening, after the dessert, rose higher.

He was genuinely puzzled when Kate disappeared just before he was ready to plate out the chicken parm.

"Rick, could you come here for a minute?" Kate called from his office.

Their office.

Not officially, but he was sure they were close.

Walking into the room, he saw her sitting on one of the couches under the window.

"You called, beautiful?"

"Just come a few feet closer," she replied. "Ok, just stand there for a minute."

He thought she was admiring his rugged good looks.

She was pressing a button on a small fob furiously. Nothing seemed to be happening.

"What is that?" he asked.

"What?! Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," she returned, tossing the fob away from her.

That's when he thought he saw a look of rage cross her face, but dismissed the thought.

What did she have to be mad about?

Absolutely nothing.

Besides him.

She was mad  _about_  him.

He was _so_  gonna get lucky tonight.

* * *

"Dinner's ready. Sorry about my mother inviting herself."

Kate was edgy.

Distracted.

"Yeah, your mother is always underfoot. I guess I have to do  _both_  of you."

"What? I don't think I heard you right, Kate."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, looking up at him. "I said that I guess I'll have to eat with both of you."

"It's not the intimate dinner for two that I was planning, but I promise you we'll be alone after dinner," he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

She smelled kind of funny. Not her normal scent.

"New body wash, or lotion?" he wondered out loud.

"Um, I—I, well, it's both. Karpowski told me to try it."

"Ah. I like it," he lied. It wasn't her scent, but if she liked it then he would too. "Ready to eat?"

"Sure, Rick. I'll be right there."

He made his way to the kitchen. Mother was now draped in an armchair in the living room.

"Must be good wine, Mother. If you were any more relaxed, you'd be asleep."

"I like most of your wine, Richard. But this bottle is exceptional," she said, swirling the red artfully.

Kate's distinctive footsteps rang out as she crossed to the breakfast bar.

He was scooping out chicken when he heard the unmistakable click of a hammer being cocked on a gun.

He couldn't believe his eyes when he looked up. Kate was standing across from him, a gun in her hand.

Pointed…at him.

"What the hell, Kate? That isn't funny."

"No joke, Ricky," she sneered. "And I'm not your precious Kate," she said, using her free hand to peel off a wig and part of some prosthetic pieces contouring her face.

He didn't even notice the loud crash when he dropped the pan of chicken on the floor.

"You just wouldn't die, would you? I tried several things to make it look like an accident, but nooooo. Ricky here has nine lives, or so it seems. Well, I'm done with that. Now both you and your mother are going to be 'victims' of a home invasion gone wrong."

"Where the hell is Kate? Why are you doing this?"

"Your lovely Kate is in a safe place, though she'll disappear permanently as soon as I tell them you're dead."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, cut the crap, Ricky. We know who you really work for. Stop acting like a 40 year old child. It's not attractive."

Rick could only gape at her.

He had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

His jaw almost joined the chicken on the ground by what happened next.

What could only be described as a flying kick over a span covering at least ten feet was executed by his mother.

His mother!

Wearing a royal blue, yellow and bright purple splotched pants suit.

Holding a wine glass.

Timing the kick expertly, her right foot hit the gun.

It went off, but the shot was a good four feet off the mark.

Her left foot hit "Kate's" shoulder, driving the would-be assassin to the ground.

Martha twisted her right foot so that she landed on it, crouched with one knee pinning the other woman to the terrazzo floor.

Holding a wine glass.

She didn't spill a drop.

Retrieving a pair of cuffs from inside her top—a place Rick really didn't want to think about—she casually cuffed the woman who'd just tried to kill them, then took a long sip of her wine.

Of course, this was made easier by the fact that the killer had been knocked out cold, but still.

It got better when she spoke.

"Really excellent choice, kiddo," she remarked, looking at the deep burgundy of the spirit in her glass.

"Guh—wha—Moth—wha—," was all he could manage.

Glancing up at him, she smirked. "You really never did figure it out, did you? Your father wasn't the only agent in the family. I'm in a special branch of the FBI."

"Bu—bu—but. Ho—How long?"

"Your whole life, darling. My cover as a single mother and struggling actress was perfect. Why do you think we were moving all the time?"

Rick couldn't even begin to process this information.

"When we started getting word that forces working against our interests thought you were the agent, it was even better. I moved in here, to keep an eye on you and Alexis, and continued my work."

Rick nodded, numb.

His mother was a kick ass FBI specialist.

His mother.

Not enough counseling in the world was going to make this right.

"But you put us in danger! They thought it was me! They took Kate! How could you!"

"Oh, lighten up, kiddo. We rescued Kate almost as soon as they took her. She was never in any danger."

"Then where is she?!"

"In a safe-house, waiting for this to be over. We had to take the opportunity to catch them red-handed, as it were. No better time to blow my cover than in the course of saving my son, right? I'm ready to retire, anyway."

"I just can't—I just don't know what to say."

"Well, you can start by apologizing for all the little remarks you've made about putting me in an old people's home."

"Of course! I'm very sorry, mother. I wouldn't dream of it."

"You'd best not," she exclaimed. "Because, Richard, I have a secret."

"Another one?" he gasped.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Well, kiddo, I've got to be honest. I wouldn't need either arm to take you out."

Gulp.


End file.
